


like a fire in my head

by kurlozmakara



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beforus (Homestuck), Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Chucklevoodoos, Consensual Mind Control, F/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2020-10-11 16:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurlozmakara/pseuds/kurlozmakara
Summary: Somewhere, in a better world, Meulin asks Kurloz to use his chucklevoodoos on her.Set in an AU where they never played the game and Kurloz never deafened Meulin.





	like a fire in my head

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially the introduction to a longer story exploring the dynamic here in further detail, but shit happened and motivation was lost, so just enjoy the porn lmao.
> 
> Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks y'all.

The first time she asks you to use your ‘voodoos on her, you’re globes-deep inside her nook, barely even listening as she struggles to piece together words to get her wanting known to you. Messiahs, she does make the prettiest noises when you twist your bulge _just so_; shit is downright addictive.

“I want - use your - chuckle… v-voodoos, purrlease, _please_ -” she chokes out all sudden-like, bright green eyes pleading up at yours. Something deep in your pan snaps at that, like a long-slain god being resurrected to fulfill a prophecy. Something dark, something vicious, some twisted shit in your nug that you been faking ignorance of gets itself known to you real and true, and you stop moving for just a second to let yourself process. If you were a man with less self-control, less patience, her bulbs would’ve been flickering purple by the end of the sentence. But you gotta be careful with that shit. Chucklevoodoos ain’t nothing to fuck around with, and that’s why you never quite let yourself at her pan, not beyond a sneaking glance or two - never enough to satisfy, but enough to scratch the itch. (You got a need to know things, and sometimes asking is a whole hell of a lot harder than just taking.)

“That’s some serious talk you’re gettin’ at, sister. Best saved for another time, don’t you think?” You lean in and pin her to the sleeping platform with your body (_so much bigger than hers, you could fuck her up so motherfuckin’ good_), feel her shuddering breaths against your mouth as you bite at her lips, hard and hungry and wanting. "_Could give you a taste, though._" And the way she nods fast and whimpers under you must be an invitation or the Messiahs wouldn’t have made it so sweet, wouldn’t have sent a deep throbbing ache from your bulge down into the very tips of your toes. 

The air in the block changes just the slightest bit when your ‘voodoos start up, unnoticeable to anyone who hasn’t spent the better part of their life studying 'em, developing the craft, training night in and motherfucking out. You slide into her pan like butter, her mind wrapping around you in a warm embrace. It ain't hard worming your way in deeper, not with how much she trusts you, how open she is to you and everything you could do to her. Silly, naive girl, she is. But you do got a _particular_ fuckin’ fondness for her, your reddest little flush. 

“Okay so far?” you ask at the same time as you send the words flashing through her head, loud and clear as the stars in the sky. She shivers at how they echo through her, like you’re in her ear and all around her at once.

She doesn’t respond for a moment, eyed glazed over. You watch her adjust to the presence in her pan, and even as you still your hips and slow the wicked, sadistic thrashing of your bulge down to a lazy curl, a dark impulse bites at your heels like a rabid barkbeast - _keep going, use her as she motherfuckin' wants to be used_ \- but you get a hold on of yourself and don't push any. You don't wanna throw yourself in too fast; you want her to remember this, want her to feel every moment of it. You keep to the very edges of her pan, wait until she gives you the tiniest fuckin' "_yes_", so quiet you wouldn't have heard it if you couldn't _feel_ it, before you let yourself settle in deeper, reaching past words and thoughts and getting at her most basic-ass mating instincts. If you end up just a touch further in than you were invited, it's only so you can push and pull at the red-hot pleasure lighting up every inch of her pan, amplify it into something _more_ so that each stroke of your bulge feels like she's on the edge of coming.

"_K_ -" she starts, trying but failing to squeak your name out when you get the tip of her little bulge in between your fingers and play with it, crossing channels up in her pan so all the sensations flow together into one heavy stream of _warm good so good so motherfuckin' good_. Ain't nothing on Beforus more satisfying, ain't nothing a prettier sight than the way your kittybitch throws her head back, swollen lips open in a silent scream, and bucks up against you so hard you gotta hold her hips in place to keep fucking her. You dig your claws in just to feel the scared _ow stop hurtshurtshurts no stop_ crying out at you, wring it through your fronds and twist it so it turns into _yes more yes hurt me I need it_. And, well, you ain't ever been one to deny someone so beautiful, and she has been such a good girl for you. 

You trace your hands down her body until they reach her thighs, let your claws sink into the tender, vulnerable flesh there and slam her legs wide open on the sleeping platform when her body instinctively squirms away from the pain. You could hold her open with your 'voodoos, use her body to your own ends if you wanted to, but you'll save that shit for some other time. Get too comfortable up in her pan and you won't wanna get out, you know that much for a fuckin' fact.

You keep soothing at it, tying that raw sting into the pleasure consuming her pan 'til they're one in the same, each prick of your claws pulling strangled gasps from her. The choked little sound she makes as her nook clenches around your bulge and spills is all the proof of your faith you’ll ever need, ‘cause ain’t no way a sound so heavenly, so motherfucking _divine_ came from anywhere but the Messiahs themselves. You're whispering praise in her ear and pan as you fill her up, purple and green painting her thighs like a holy canvas. Nothing gets you higher than this - strongest 'nip in the world couldn't fuckin' compare to the rush when you pull out and she's still shaking, flushed green from horn to toe and looking up at you like you hung the planets and put the moon in the motherfuckin' night sky.

You ease out of her mind gently, let her come back into herself all curled up in your arms. Her eyes are hazy when the purple finally leaves them, and she takes a couple deep, slow breaths before trying at words.

"I… that was… that was _purrfect_," she breathes, givin' you as much of a smile as she can in her thoroughly fucked-out state. She does tend to get sleepy after pailing, your girl. This is the part where you’d clean up, normally - you're both sticky and kinda gross, and you should get your talk on of what just transpired at some point, but you got an exhaustion settling into your bones like you just moved mountains. Responsibilities can come later. For now, you'll sleep.


End file.
